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ilcyclic
Patermonster
Our Father, which art a zombie,
Shuffling be thy Gait.
Thy clothing's torn.
Thy mind is worn,
In Romero as it is in Fulci.
Give us this day, our daily brains.
And forgive us our gnawing,
As we forgive those who gnaw at us.
And lead us not into shotguns;
But deliver us from fire:
For thine is the cemetery, the morgue, and the deserted farm house,
For ever and ever.
Amen.
ilcyclicPatermonster
Our Father, which art a zombie,
Shuffling be thy Gait.
Thy clothing's torn.
Thy mind is worn,
In Romero as it is in Fulci.
Give us this day, our daily brains.
And forgive us our gnawing,
As we forgive those who gnaw at us.
And lead us not into shotguns;
But deliver us from fire:
For thine is the cemetery, the morgue, and the deserted farm house,
For ever and ever.
Amen.